


Moments of Gold

by SailorChibi



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers as family, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Bruce Banner is a Good Doctor, Cat Bucky Barnes, Cat Ears, Cat Natasha Romanov, Cat Tony Stark, Cat/Human Hybrids, Dark fic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I am so cruel to tony, I mean there's plenty of cuteness, Identity Porn, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Hugging, Poor Tony, Protective Avengers, Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Phil Coulson, Protective Steve Rogers, Sick Fic, Steve Rogers is Stubborn, Team as Family, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Touch-Starved, Trauma, aftermath of rape, but there's a definite layer of darkness underneath, cat people - Freeform, identity porn is my jam, no actual porn sorry, obadiah stane deserves to die, rumors of tony's death are greatly exaggerated, steve rogers is determined to protect the little guy, that's basically the story, there are a lot of cuddles in this fic, yes cat people are a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:57:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: Tony Stark died in the Battle of New York. Iron Man disappeared after he fell from the portal. As far as anyone knows, those two events are not related, and life moved on.Until Steve, on his way home one night, finds an abandoned kit in a box in an alley. A kit by the name of Tony.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for this year's Cap-Iron Man Big Bang. With less than ten days before the draft deadline and only 11,000 words written, obviously that isn't going to happen. I still really like this fic and the plans I have it for, so I'm posting it in the hopes that any comments I get will encourage me to finish the damn thing already.
> 
> ETA: there seems to be a little confusion. Kits are normal people with cat ears and tails, plus sharper/stronger nails. They have some improved reflexes and a slightly different biology but otherwise look human. So Tony, for example, looks pretty much the way he does in the movies but with the aforementioned features.

It would be a long, messy walk home. Steve stared out the window for a moment longer, watching as the initial mist against the windows slowly became a steady downpour. The dark grey clouds were causing an early dusk, and he could see fog starting to swirl up from the streets. Long and messy and _dark_ and _wet_ , because of course the clouds would open up just about the time that he was scheduled to get off work in five minutes. 

He sighed and turned, taking one more glance up and down the hall. It was quiet and empty, of course, being that the building had closed an hour and a half ago. Normally, Steve didn't mind. The Metropolitan Museum of Art was one of his favorite places in the world, and working after hours allowed him to admire the paintings and artwork as much as he wanted. He was basically getting paid to spend time in paradise.

But tonight he was tired, and he just wanted to go home. He glanced down at his watch and slowly started meandering towards the guard room, figuring their replacements would have already shown up. Some of the guards preferred the night shift, but others wanted the day. Steve didn't mind a little of both. Having to watch patrons didn't leave much time for art appreciation, but it was adorable to see the little kids coming in for the first time.

The second the clock clicked over to 7pm, his radio crackled to life and a familiar voice shouted, "And we're officially out of here! Two whole days of freedom, here I come."

"Can I ask why you work here if you hate it so much?" Steve said into his radio, amused in spite of himself. One of the reasons he didn't mind this shift was because of the people he worked with. He'd learned a long time ago that a sense of humor went a very long way.

"I don't hate it here. I just don't want to stick around any longer than I have to."

Hearing two versions of the same voice, Steve looked up. Daniel grinned at him from where he was standing in the office doorway, backup slung over his shoulder and car keys in hand. It was technically against procedure to actually sign off before the schedule was up, but on a night like this Steve wasn't going to say anything. He just grinned and playfully shook his head.

"You better get going, then. I heard that Jenkins was supposed to work tonight. And you know what means," he added wryly, enjoying the look of horror on Daniel's face. Jenkins was one of the few people that no one really liked working with. The man constantly called in sick or begged coworkers to take his shifts - and if all else failed, he simply didn't bother showing up, forcing everyone else to scramble to cover him. 

"I'm gone. Seeya 'round, Steve." Daniel gave him a mock salute and took off.

"No running!" Steve called after him, hurrying into the office. He had no interest in having his arm twisted into staying for another couple of hours, either. He quickly signed his radio in and then logged out, paused by his locker to pick up his bag, coat and umbrella, and headed out into the pouring rain.

Despite the storm, it wasn't as cold as he was expecting. It was chilly enough that he could see his breath when he exhaled, but there was no wind. He tucked his free hand in his pocket and whistled softly as he walked down the sidewalk. His coworkers liked to tease him about not having a car even though he could have easily afforded one, but Steve didn't mind the walk. It gave him time to think.

Some days, though, that wasn't necessarily a good thing. This was one of them. He picked up his pace a bit, not quite a jog, and was dreaming about what he might have for supper - canned soup, maybe, with a sandwich, or he could heat up one of the casseroles that Clint had forced on him - when he heard a faint sound that sounded an awful lot like a person, or maybe an animal, crying.

Steve stopped dead, his eyes sweeping the street. It was clogged with traffic, but the sidewalk was pretty much empty. He listened hard and heard it again, somewhere to his left. It wouldn't have been an audible to a normal human, but Steve could just hear it over the traffic. He swung around and tracked it to a dark alley, caught between a Chinese restaurant and a florist. He couldn't see a damn thing, but over the sound of the rain and honking cars, he was close enough to hear it better.

Crying, yes, with the occasional mewl mixed in that made him think of a wounded cat. A hurt animal, maybe? Bruce would love that. He jumped when he saw a flash of blue light. Not lightening, but - 

"Hello? Is someone there?"

Immediately, the soft crying stopped. Steve narrowed his eyes, trying to see into the darkness, and couldn't. Too bad the serum hadn't granted him the ability to see in the dark. He groped in his pocket and took out his phone, switching on the flashlight app that Natasha had shown him how to download. The alley lit up with startling brightness and he caught sight of... well.

A kit stared up at him, brown eyes wide and rimmed with red. Otherwise, it would've been impossible to tell that he was crying, because the poor thing was soaked from the rain. Dark ears were lowered in an effort to protect the soft, inner pink flesh from the rain, and Steve caught a glimpse of an equally dark tail wrapped protectively around a thin waist. What the kit was wearing, threadbare jeans and a ragged t-shirt, wasn't fit for the temperature even without the storm, and the poor thing was shivering hard.

"Hello there," Steve said softly, barely audible over the rain hitting the pavement. "This is an awful night to be out all by yourself."

He took a careful step closer. His initial thought - that the kit was drunk, maybe, or lost - was quickly pushed aside when he spotted the cardboard box. It was almost disintegrated, the sides folding to mush, from the force of the rain, but there was still enough left to make the implication clear and Steve grit his teeth. Abandonment. What he couldn't figure out was why the kit was still sitting there. Why hadn't he left as soon as someone dropped him off, or when the rain started?

"My name is Steve," he added, stopping when he was within arm's reach. He crouched down so that the two of them were on the same level in the hopes that he would seem less threatening. Up close, he could see that recently the kit had found somewhere to shave: his lower face was smooth and bare of scruff, though dirty. His hair, on the other hand, was shaggy and in need of a trim, falling into his eyes. With his shoulders hunched, hands and the tip of his tail clasped in front of his chest, he looked pathetic.

Steve could practically _feel_ his heart breaking.

"You don't have to be scared, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise."

The kit blinked, then sneezed and flinched back, like he was expecting to be hit.

Yeah, that just confirmed it. There was no way Steve was leaving the little guy out here alone. "It's supposed to rain all night. From what my friends who are kits tell me, cold water isn't much fun," he said, forcing himself to smile. He held out a hand. "You can come home with me, if you like. It's not much, but it's warmer than this."

Those wary brown eyes just kept staring at him. When he didn't get a response, Steve slowly moved forward. The kit flinched again with a quiet, panicked sound, but otherwise didn't move as Steve touched the top of his head. His hair was greasy and waterlogged, but Steve didn't care. He lightly slid his fingertips against the kit's scalp, just barely exerting pressure.

With another sound, this one more like the mewls Steve had heard earlier, the kit exploded into action. He launched himself into Steve's arms, arms clasping around Steve's neck and legs winding around his waist. Steve was knocked backwards on his ass from the momentum, swearing as he landed in a puddle. It was freezing, the wet seeping quickly into his jeans, and the kit cringed but didn't let go.

"It's fine," Steve said, resting a hand on the kit's back. He was trembling all over, tail hanging straight down like there wasn't enough life in it to move, and whining deep in his throat. "It's okay. You're not in trouble. Come on. It's time we were both inside, I think."

It took a little effort to get to his feet with a solid hundred-and-some pounds of kit clinging to him, but he managed. He retrieved his umbrella and wound his free arm around the kit's waist to help keep him steady, not that it was really necessary. The kit had burrowed his face against Steve's throat as though he never planned to come out, and Steve was pretty sure he could feel claws digging into the back of his shirt.

"Shh," he murmured uselessly, pleased to leave the cardboard box behind, effortlessly carrying the kit out of the alley. The traffic seemed so much louder on the street, but he could still hear the steady whine rumbling out from the head tucked under his chin.

Suddenly the walk to his apartment seemed to take an impossibly long time. He breathed a sigh of relief when his building finally came into sight. He carried the kit up the four flights of stairs and grabbed the knob, pleased for the first time ever that he rarely bothered to lock his door. He pushed it open and stepped into the living room, a little surprised to find that - for once - the place was actually empty. Clint and Natasha must have been off on an op of some kind.

He left his dripping umbrella by the door, kicked his sopping shoes off, and carried the kit down the hallway into the bathroom. "Do you think you can shower by yourself?" Steve asked. The arms around his neck tightened. "No? Okay, then." He eyed the shower, then shrugged and stepped in fully clothed. It wasn't like either one of them could get any wetter.

The kit started in surprise when the warm water hit his back, but otherwise didn't move or make a sound. At least that awful whining had stopped. And gradually, as the bathroom filled with steam, the kit stopped shivering, and Steve was able to pry him off just long enough to get a better look at him.

In human years, the kit was probably in his late thirties. That was pretty young for a kit, though. Somehow, even though he wasn't crammed into a cardboard box in the middle of a thunderstorm, he looked even more pathetic than before. Under the harsh light, his skin was pale and sallow, like he hadn't seen the sun for months. He was also smaller than Steve had anticipated. Not short, his height was probably around 5'7, but pitifully slender. It certainly wouldn't have taken someone as strong as Steve to snap him right in half. The raggedy clothing he was wearing hung off of him.

"Take those off," Steve told him, making a face. "I'll get you something else to wear, okay? Just stay here until I come back so you don't get even more cold."

He clambered out, unashamedly stripped his clothes off so that he wouldn't track water everywhere, and grabbed a towel as he walked out of the room. His mind was spinning as he headed into his bedroom, and as he hauled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt he placed a quick phone call. Bruce wasn't exactly pleased about being pulled away from an experiment, but he agreed to come without too much pleading (or explanation) on Steve's part. He really did have the greatest friends.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to re-iterate, because a few people were confused: kits are normal people with cat ears and tails, plus sharper/stronger nails. They have some improved reflexes and a slightly different biology (as touched upon in this chapter) but otherwise look human. So Tony, for example, looks pretty much the way he does in the movies but with the aforementioned features.

Steve returned to the bathroom to find a sight that, in any other situation, would've been funny. The kit had obviously taken his instruction to stay where he was seriously, but had a dislike of the water: he was backed up into a corner of the shower, tail wound around his bony hips, so that as much of him was out of the flow of water as possible. He was stark naked, though filthy, and the smile tugging at Steve's mouth died a quick death when he caught sight of the kit's chest. 

The skin was a mess of scars that surrounded a silver disc. A blue light was shining from the middle of the disc, soft and mesmerizing. Steve stared at it, speechless, until the kit growled. It was a quiet sound, not really as threatening as it should have been, but it was still enough to snap Steve out of it. He took a quick step back, realizing that the kit's fur was standing on end and he was staring back at Steve with a combination of fear and anger, teeth bared.

"It's okay," he said soothingly, holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm. "Did I scare you? I'm sorry. I didn't meant to. I won't hurt you, I promise." To prove it, he set the pajamas he'd brought with him on the counter and made sure to keep his distance as he put out another towel. Then he backed up against the bathroom door and sat down, politely turning his head away to give the kit some privacy.

For a couple of minutes he didn't hear anything but the sound of water hitting the floor of the tub. Then, at last, the sound was interrupted, presumably by a body stepping into the path of the spray. Steve breathed a quiet sigh of relief, glad that at least he hadn't screwed things up too much. He wondered at that strange silver disc, which was unlike anything he'd seen before. Something about the cool blue glow was familiar, but he couldn't put a finger on why - and the more he tried to remember, the more the memory slipped just out of reach.

He sighed in frustration, rubbing the back of his neck as the shower turned off. "You can dry off with the towel and then put the clothes I left out on," he said without turning his head. He kept facing away until the movement stopped and he judged it safe to sneak a peek.

His first thought was that what he had taken to be dirt was actually bruising on his neck and face. He had two black eyes. It was hard to tell what else was wrong with him because he was wearing the pajamas now, though the clothing swamped him. The bottoms were so large he had to hold them up, but they weren't really necessary: the hem of the top fell modestly over his thighs, and the neck threatened to slide entirely off one slender shoulder. He hadn't bothered to dry his hair, so beads of water were running down his face. He looked at Steve and flicked an ear, sending a few water droplets flying.

Steve chuckled in spite of how angry he was over the bruises. He couldn't help it. The kit blinked a couple times and then smiled hesitantly, the first smile Steve had gotten from him, before he let go of the pajama bottoms. They slid to the floor and he stepped out of them, tail curling around his legs. Still smiling, Steve bent and picked the bottoms up, folding them automatically and putting them back on the counter. Then he grabbed the discarded towel.

"I guess we'll have to get you some clothes," he mused, dropping the towel over the kit's head and briskly scrubbing at the wet hair. The kit was about 5'8, but underweight. Clint's clothes would probably be a little big, but would fit better than Steve's. 

And then, feeling a little hopeful because of the fleeting smile, he added, "Can you... do you have a name? Can you tell me?"

His hands stilled on the towel when the kit nudged it aside, looking up at him with those huge eyes. He studied Steve for several seconds, eyebrows drawn together, before dropping his gaze. Steve decided to take that as a no. He said, “That’s okay. Maybe later when you’re feeling better. In the meantime, I asked one of my friends to come over and take a look at you.”

An expression of fear shot over the kit’s face and he mewled. It was such a pleading sound that Steve flinched. Strangely, even though the information had clearly terrified him, he made no attempt to get away or even to try to hide. Instead, his shoulders slumped in resignation – much the way they had been when Steve first found him – and he started worrying at the fur on his tail, fingers rubbing anxiously. Like he’d been taught not to fight. The thought flashed across Steve’s mind and then refused to leave. He gritted his teeth.

“It’s okay, babe, he’s a doctor. He just wants to make sure that you’re not hurt or sick. He’s not going to – I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise,” Steve rushed to say, wanting to reach out and comfort him, but knowing that might not be a wise idea. 

The kit glanced up at him slowly. He blinked at Steve a couple of times, brown eyes wide, and then smirked.

Steve blinked back and ran over what he’d just blurted out to figure out what would illicit such a reaction. When he got it, he blushed. “S-sorry,” he muttered, busying himself with setting the towel over the curtain rod to dry. “I, uh – sorry.”

Long, slender fingers slid over Steve’s wrist, stalling his hectic movement. Those fingers looked fragile, but there was also a lot of strength in them. Steve looked down at them for a long time, then up at the kit. The shy smile he found waiting for him instantly soothed away the rest of his embarrassment and he found himself smiling back before he could stop to think about it. He put his other hand over top of the kit’s and squeezed gently.

“I can tell him not to come if you don’t want to see him,” he said. “I just – I didn’t know how long you were out in the rain, and I’m not – I’ve got a couple friends who are kits, but frankly speaking they're also crazy, so if you’re hurt or sick or something I don’t know how to help you.”

The fingers on his wrist tightened a little and the kit sidled closer, but slowly, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed. Steve sealed the deal, hooking an arm around his waist and drawing him into a hug. The kit snuggled right into him, head resting on Steve’s chest and eyes closed in contentment. Steve patted his head gently, and he was tempted to see if those fuzzy ears were really as soft as they looked but refrained. Bucky had made it very clear a long time ago that the cat parts of a kit, namely the ears and tails were off limits.

He wasn’t sure how long they stood there for, but the sound of knocking broke them apart. It had to be Bruce, because he was the only one of them who even bothered to knock anymore. The kit went stiff with fear, but trailed behind as Steve went out to answer it, throwing the door open to the sight of a put-out scientist with greasy hair and a perpetual squint: signs that Bruce had spent the past forty-eight hours holed up in what passed for his lab at SHIELD.

“This better be important,” Bruce said. “I was right in the middle of –” He cut off abruptly, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the kit, and then he scowled at Steve. “How many times do I have to tell you guys that I am not that kind of doctor?”

“Come on, Bruce,” Steve wheedled, “I don’t want to take him to SHEILD and I don’t trust anyone else.”

Bruce sighed, but since he hadn’t walked away, that meant he’d already given in. He stepped inside the apartment and shed his coat, offering a friendly but cautious smile. “Hello.”

The kit’s eyes flicked to Steve, but he took Bruce’s hand in a very quick handshake. The speed at which he drew his own hand back made Bruce frown and flick a questioning glance at Steve. Steve shook his head. He was pretty sure the kit would’ve reacted the same with anyone, and that it had nothing to do with the Hulk. 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Bruce asked, looking the kit over. 

When the kit didn’t answer, Steve gave up what he knew: “I found him in a cardboard box on my way home.”

“In a –” Bruce stopped, frowning, when the kit whimpered.

Steve nodded. “So I brought him back here, but he hasn’t said anything.”

“Still picking up strays, I see,” Bruce muttered then, mouth twitching. “Sam and Bucky are never gonna let you forget this, you know.”

“I know,” Steve said with a sigh, resigned to the inevitable teasing that was in his future.

“Do you mind if I give you a quick examination?” Bruce asked the kit, who slowly shook his head. “Right, then. Sit down and let’s have a look.”

The examination – which Steve was present for, because when he tried to slip out for privacy, the kit started making those awful keening sounds again – went worse than Steve had expected. In the stark light of the living room, the bruises were _everywhere_ : on his legs, his hips, around his pelvis, on his belly, even his neck and shoulders, his chin and cheeks. Bite marks, too, scattered around his thighs and belly, and raw chafing around his wrists and ankles where he’d struggled.

Steve hadn't noticed the welts either, which covered the backs of the kit’s thighs, his buttocks and – presumably – continued well up his back. He refused to remove the shirt, which Steve was actually a little relieved about. He wanted to put his fist through the wall as it was. Some of the welts were so fresh they were still seeping blood in a few spots, and all he could think about was how when he carried the kit home, it must’ve burned so much. But the kit hadn’t said a word, because he was so grateful Steve was taking him home at all.

By the time the examination was over, Bruce was a little green around the edges. He maintained his composure, though, asking for Steve’s SHIELD issued first aid kit. Steve had never been so grateful for the little silver box, which contained medical grade antibiotics and painkillers. He stood by, hovering protectively, as Bruce patiently explained what he was doing and why to the kit. The kit understood every word, too, even when he was shaking from fear or pain or both as Bruce smoothed cream over the worst of it and put bandages on his thighs, buttocks, back, wrists and ankles.

“You take these,” he said at last, handing the kit two painkillers and two antibiotics. “I’ll get you some water. Steve?”

“Are you okay?” Steve asked the kit. Only after he received a shaky nod did he follow Bruce, who was leaning against the counter and taking very slow, deep breaths.

“We need to find out where he came from,” Bruce said without preamble, distinctly greener now than before. “That’s _abuse_ , Steve, and not just once or twice. Long term, at least a couple of months if not longer. He’s malnourished and dehydrated and I couldn’t get close enough to tell if he’s been sexually abused but I suspect the answer is yes, and to top it all off he’s massively touch starved.”

Memories of long nights spent cuddling with Bucky washed over him, and Steve ground his teeth. “Does he need treatment?”

“I’m not sure he’d allow it,” Bruce admitted. “He didn’t really like it when I touched him and you were standing right there. I don’t think he’d take well to strangers, and considering what he’s been through no one could blame him. But Steve – this isn’t the kind of thing you can start and then stop. He’ll be clingy, nervous. Any trauma survivor would be, but he’s burning up. Part of it’s probably a reaction to being out in the cold and rain with a compromised immune system, but the rest is all textbook kit reaction to touch deprivation. He’ll have to sleep in your bed, curl up with you on the couch, be in your face basically 24/7 for the next several weeks. I’d be willing to go so far as to say that’s probably why whoever was holding him kicked him out. It’s easier to hide a live victim than get rid of a dead body, sometimes.”

“Or just more fun,” Steve said darkly, all too familiar with the horrifying side of humanity. He itched to track down whoever the kit had been staying with. Someone who thought that kits were nothing more than pets in a humanoid form, probably. Disgusting. 

“Most likely both,” Bruce said, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly before he pressed on. “And with that comes the other side of this: you don’t know where he came from. This could be dangerous.”

“That’s never stopped me before. I’m not going to abandon him, Bruce. He needs me.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bruce sighed, but he was smiling a little like he had been expecting Steve's answer. “I know. I just wanted you to be aware of what you were getting into. I suggest you contact Coulson and ask him to see if he can figure out who this guy is. It’s unlikely he’s been missed by anyone, but…”

“I’ll talk to him about it. He might not want me to, depending on the reach of the people who had him before,” said Steve. 

“Okay, but you know SHIELD will be curious.”

“Fury also knows better than to try to get through all of us,” Steve pointed out. Bucky and Natasha would be on the kit’s side as a matter of principle - kits stuck together and all that - but one look at those sad brown eyes and Clint, Coulson, Sam and Thor would be tripping over themselves to protect him. He could already tell that Bruce was feeling the same urge to defend the kit as Steve was and it had only been an hour.

A smirk quirked Bruce’s lips. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Just… exercise caution. Go slow. Let him set the pace for everything, including new people. And try to get him to talk if you can. The more information we know, the easier it would be to track down the people who did this.”

“Thanks, Bruce. Should I be doing anything special or…?”

“Just what you would do for anyone who was sick,” Bruce replied. “Rest, light food, lots of water. His electrolytes are probably low, so have Bucky pick up something to help replace those. He’s got a low fever right now and he needs painkillers and antibiotics more than anything, but if it gets worse a cold shower or bath will help. Keep his bandages changed. And touch, Steve, I’m not kidding. He’s on the edge of shock right now, and he’s so run down that that _will_ kill him.”

And that wasn’t even taking into account the odd disc in the kit’s chest, which he had refused to show Bruce. Who knew what the circumstances behind that were and what ramifications it had. Steve nodded somberly, knowing that wasn’t his secret to reveal, and said, “Then I guess I should get in there.”

“I’ll call Bucky.”

“Thanks,” Steve said again. It wasn’t nearly enough, and he was suddenly grateful all over again for SHIELD for bringing together the Avengers Initiative. The team might’ve fallen apart after the disastrous Battle of New York, but it’d had some lasting effects. The modern century was a nightmare sometimes, but teammates – friends - like Bruce made it little bit easier. He had no idea where he would be otherwise, but he suspected it wouldn’t be good.

He saw Bruce to the door, then went back to the couch. The kit was curled up in a little ball on the couch, legs drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped them. Steve sat down on the other end. “I guess you heard most of that, huh? If you’d prefer that I called someone else… if you have friends or family who are looking for you, I can get in contact with them…” He trailed off when the kit started shaking his head frantically.

Had it been his family that had done this to him?

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, hiding the flare of anger that thought inspired. “Not what you want, babe, I get it. I don’t mind if you stay here with me. I don’t have a roommate, but somehow all of my friends got keys to my apartment so I’m used to it.”

The kit looked over at him. He was trembling a little, from fear or fatigue or pain, or maybe shock, and yet he still maintained the distance between them. Maybe it was stupid and moving too fast, but those inches felt like a gap Steve couldn’t keep himself from closing. He scooted across the couch and set a gentle hand on the kit’s shoulder, not sure what he would do if the kit tried to get away – no contact would kill him, but it didn’t seem right to force it on him either.

It turned out that Steve didn't need to worry about that. The kit stayed tense for _maybe_ ten seconds, and then he twisted and grabbed desperately at Steve, claws sinking into clothing and flesh. Steve winced but stayed quiet, letting the kit scramble onto his lap and cling to him. He wrapped his arms around the kit and shushed him, setting his hand against the back of the kit's head. That was as far as he intended to take it, but when the kit felt the pressure he arched into it in an unmistakable invitation.

Holding his breath, Steve cautiously slid his hand up and stroked the kit's head. Then, when he wasn't mauled to death, he did it a second time, gaining confidence with every pass. The kit's hair was still wet - and it looked even shaggier now that it was clean - but he didn't mind, pressing his fingers to the scalp and scratching gently in a way he knew Bucky adored. The kit squirmed a little, shaking his head and then butting against Steve's hand in a clear plea for more outright petting.

Well, there was no arguing with that. Exhaling as the claws in his flesh slowly eased up on their grip, Steve kept petting. At first he avoided the ears, but then the kit tipped his head so that the base of one ear made contact with Steve's thumb. He obliged, lightly rubbing the pad of his thumb around the sensitive spot where ear and scalp connected. The kit shivered and finally relaxed, though he didn't let go of Steve's shirt.

Steve didn't remember falling asleep, but he must have. He woke up the next morning feeling a little chilly, which was unpleasant at best and - depending on how cold he was - triggering at worst. He usually tried to keep his apartment warm for that reason, or, to keep from having to pay an obscenely high power bill in the middle of February, he'd drag one of his freeloading friends into bed with him. Body heat was always the best when it came to warming up.

He groped at the couch beside him, half-expecting to find that there was a warm body beside him that had just shifted away during the night, but no such luck. He opened one eye and looked blearily around the room, then winced and swore when a bright light appeared right in front of him. Throwing a hand over his eyes, he batted at the offending light with the other and heard a very unfamiliar chuckle. The sound cut off as quickly as it began.

But it was still enough to job his memory. Uncaring that the light was enough to make his eyes smart, he dropped his hands and looked up, blinking. The kit was standing right in front of him, holding the tablet that Coulson had given him. On the surface, it just looked like a generic tablet. Only someone who knew the special codes could get down into the SHIELD interface. Right now it was open to a blank word document with one word typed.

Tony.

"Tony," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't - wait. Tony. Is that your name?" He straightened up.

The kit - no, Tony nodded. His grip on the tablet was tentative, like he wasn't sure he was supposed to have it. "Tony," he said softly, and his voice was rougher than Steve was expecting. It sounded like it hurt him to talk.

"I'm Steve. I think I introduced myself last night, but... well, you know." Steve thrust a hand out, waiting patiently until Tony slowly took it. They shook gently, and when Tony didn't immediately pull away Steve smiled at him. In the light of day, the bruises on Tony were a lot more apparent. Either that, or more had formed overnight. He was probably also in a lot of pain.

So, that meant the order of the morning was painkillers, water, and food. Steve could handle that. He stood up, pretending not to notice that Tony stumbled backwards a step, and stretched, letting out a satisfied sigh when his back popped. Sometimes he was grateful for the serum, if only because it meant he never woke up with sore muscles from sleeping in weird places. It was something Sam never ceased to complain about.

"Do you have any food allergies?" he asked. "Anything you don't like?"

Looking faintly puzzled, Tony shook his head. He held the tablet out, looking down at the ground. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. You're welcome to it. I pretty much use it for Angry Birds and not much else," Steve admitted, grabbing the pills Bruce had left behind and leading the way into the kitchen. "It was a gift from a friend, and I think they expected me to use it a lot more than I do. But I prefer to get my news the old fashioned way."

He took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, then took two antibiotics and two painkillers from the bottles. He held it all out to Tony. "You're welcome to anything I have," he said quietly, meaning it. "I wouldn't have brought you here if you weren't. You can eat and drink whatever you want, take a shower, watch television... I don't have much in the way of actual books, but Natasha downloaded plenty of them on there." He nodded to the tablet.

Tony looked at the pills and the water. He clutched the tablet to his chest with one hand and took the pills, putting them in his mouth, before he took the water and drank. And drank. Until it was all gone and he was panting, his ears lowered and his tail curled around his legs again. He looked so sad standing there, empty glass dangling from his fingers, tongue sweeping over his lips like he was trying to get the last little bit of liquid.

Without asking, Steve took the glass, refilled it and handed it back. He did a third and fourth time before Tony shook his head, moving over to the table like he was going to sit down. Then he paused, shooting a quick glance back at Steve. He didn't actually sit until Steve waved a hand in permission, and even then he curled in on himself so that he took up as little space as possible.

It was utterly infuriating. Just where had Tony come from, and who had done this to him? It took every ounce of willpower Steve possessed to not demand answers. He didn't need Bruce's lecture ringing in his ears to know that pushing Tony for details would be one of the worst things he could do right now. The last thing he wanted to do was make Tony feel like he wasn't safe here.

So he turned his attention to cooking up a quick breakfast of toast, eggs and cut up fruit. It took several minutes, but he didn't mind. He enjoyed cooking, and he was used to doing it for more than one person - Bucky and Clint normally joined him for breakfast, but there were times when he had the whole team around his (admittedly small) table. He brought it all to the table and then went to get himself a cup of coffee. 

"Did you want milk, or..." He trailed off when he turned around, realizing that Tony was sitting straight up. His bright eyes were glued to the cup of coffee, the way a cat would stare at a mouse, and his nose was twitching as though that would better help him inhale the scent.

Steve coughed back a laugh with effort. "I take it you drink coffee," he said, willingly setting his mug down on the table. Tony pounced the second his hand was out of the way, taking a long, deep drink even though it had to be too hot.

"Whoa, don't burn yourself. It's not going to disappear," Steve told him, bringing over milk and sugar. He watched with amusement as Tony added copious amounts of milk and sugar, but that drained away quickly when Tony leaned back and huddled over the mug protectively. He still had the tablet clutched to his chest. It looked like he was trying to protect them.

He resolutely ignored a fresh burst of fury and just poured himself another cup of coffee, then took a seat. He dished himself up some food and, when Tony made no move to take any, put some on Tony's plate as well. Tony ignored the meal for several minutes, too preoccupied with taking slower sips of his coffee. But when the mug was empty, and had been regretfully placed on the table, he picked up a piece of pineapple and started to nibble.  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of rape in this chapter; no details.

"I know you said last night you didn't have anyone searching for you," Steve said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them. "Are you sure? No friends or family?"

Tony hesitated for several seconds. He bit into a piece of toast and chewed at the crust, then swallowed and whispered, "They think I'm dead."

"Who's they?" 

"My friends."

Steve nodded, though the urge to press for names and then go on a hunt to find whoever had done this was getting more intense by the second. "I can get word to them. Let them know that you're okay. I'm sure that whoever they are, they miss you."

For some reason, that made a strange, sad smile appear on Tony's face. He shook his head. "They're better off without me," he mumbled. "I don't want them to know. He'll kill them."

"Who will?" Steve asked. He couldn't help it. He'd wondered, once or twice, if maybe Tony didn't know who'd done this. Bucky certainly couldn't name all of Hydra bastards who'd experimented on him over the years. But Tony's phrasing suggested that he knew who at least one person was.

Tony's breath hitched and his ears lowered. "No one."

Damn. Steve hesitated, then got up and went to fetch the coffee pot. He poured them both another cupful before he sat down again. The silence was distinctly less comfortable this time, but he couldn't figure out how to break it. He had so many questions to ask. Had Tony been kidnapped? How long had he been held for? What exactly had been done to him? Who were his friends? Why didn't he go to the police when he was left in that box?

He looked across the table at Tony, heart twisting at the downcast look on Tony's face. Without thinking, he stretched his foot across the floor until he was touching Tony's foot. Tony jumped, though he didn't pull away. The contact actually seemed to relax him, unwinding a little bit of the tension in his shoulders. It was a step in the right direction, and Steve decided to risk asking something else.

"Are you hurt?" he asked. "I mean - I know Bruce gave you an examination, but he tells us constantly that he's not that kind of doctor. So should I be taking you to the hospital for internal injuries or broken bones or anything like that?"

"I'm fine," Tony said to his mug, not looking up. "He hasn't bothered to rape me for the past couple of months, if that's what you're asking. He lost interest."

The mug in Steve's hand shattered, sending hot coffee across the table and all of over the front of his clothing. Tony jumped again, one hand coming up to shield himself from a blow that never happened. He stared at Steve with wide, frightened eyes. Steve stared back, not even caring that the coffee was starting to burn him. He was torn somewhere between anguish and a desire to murder.

"I'm sorry," Tony whispered finally. "I didn't - I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," Steve said, forcing the words out. "It's not your fault. Finish your coffee. I'm gonna go get changed."

He left the mess without bothering to clean it up, walked down the hall in a daze, and shut the door. He stood there for a moment, breathing through the surge of emotions, before he decided this was really not something he was equipped to handle on his own. He picked up his phone and dialed a familiar number. It rang a couple of times before someone answered.

"Hello?"

"I'm going to kill someone."

"Cool," Clint said. His voice grew distant as he shouted, "Hey Buck! Steve's going super villain and wants us to join him!"

"That's fine, but Europe's mine," Bucky replied. "Give me the phone, asshole." There was the sounds of a tussle and then Clint yelped in pain before Bucky said, "Steve? What's going on? What's this about you picking up strays?"

Steve closed his eyes briefly. Of course Bruce would've mentioned it to someone already. It hadn't taken anyone long to realize that, in a group like theirs, no one had secrets for long. "I'm going to kill him, Bucky."

"The stray?"

"No, the guy that fucking kidnapped and tortured and raped him," Steve snarled, maybe a little too loudly judging from the shocked silence on the other end.

"Uh, Phil?" Clint said in the background.

"I would advise against that, Steve," Phil said. It sounded like he was talking over Bucky's shoulder. 

"Advise against it like you'd send SHIELD after me, or advise against it like you'd help me hide the body?" Steve said.

There was a considering silence, and then Clint said, "He's totally making the face that says he'd make me dig the grave."

"You should buy a shovel, then," Steve told them. "I'm not even joking."

"Okay, see now I actually think you're being serious," Bucky said. "I think it's about time that you told us the whole story."

It only took about ten minutes to tell the three of them what had happened last night and this morning. As he spoke, Steve realized just how little he actually knew about Tony. For all he knew, this was some elaborate trick designed to get him to trust Tony just so that Tony could turn around and lead Captain America into a trap. He considered that for all of thirty seconds before dismissing the idea entirely. No one could fake the kind of fear and desperation he'd seen in Tony's eyes.

When he was finished, there was a long period of silence on the other then of the line. Finally, Phil said, "He said his name was Tony?"

"Yeah. I didn't ask for a last name, but I doubt he would've given me one," Steve replied. He set his phone on speaker, turned the volume down and started stripping out of his clothes. Fortunately the serum had already gone to work, and there was no sign of the burns that should have been on his belly and thighs.

"I can do some looking around, but that's a fairly common name. It would help if you could get him to give you more details."

Steve huffed out a laugh as he hauled some jeans on. "I don't know if that's going to happen anytime soon. Right now I feel like I'm walking on eggshells around him. He definitely doesn't trust me, and why would he? As far as he knows, I could be just as bad as the asshole who did that to him."

"But he stayed with you," Clint pointed out. "That has to mean something."

"Yeah, that he had nowhere else to go. Bruce said he's touch starved," Steve said, wincing when he heard Bucky inhale sharply. It had been one of Hydra's favorite methods of torture when it came to keeping Bucky under control. To this date, Bucky could go without touch for a lot longer than most kits just because it was a part of his training that he'd never been able to overcome.

"I'm coming over for supper tonight," Bucky said in the tone that meant he wasn't taking no for an answer.

Steve didn't bother to argue. "Bring pizza with you."

"Done. Be careful, Steve."

"He's not gonna hurt me, Buck." Steve thought about the look on Tony's face after his outburst. The flinch, coupled with the sheer terror in those brown eyes, suggested that it had been a long time since Tony had been the one doing the hurting. Even the outburst itself was probably more from habit as the last defense he had against the people - or person - who'd had been keeping him.

"Just be careful," Bucky repeated.

"I will." He hung up then, pulled a shirt on and put his phone in his pocket. Before he left his room, he took a deep breath and steeled himself. He had to get himself under control. Whatever Tony told him was not something he could react to. The last thing he wanted was for Tony to be scared of him.

When he got back to the kitchen, he saw that even though Tony was sitting where he'd been when Steve left, the table was now spotless. The shards of the mug had been carefully swept into the trash. The coffee was cleaned up. Even the dishes from their breakfast, with the exception of Tony's mug, had been washed and were now sitting out on the drying rack. And there was a brand new mug of coffee sitting in front of Steve's place.

It hit Steve all over again how extremely unprepared he was to handle this. He took another deep breath before saying, "You didn't need to clean up my mess. But thank you."

Tony gave a shrug with one shoulder. "It was my fault. My mess. I'm sorry." The apology seemed automatic and he carefully didn't look at Steve, his eyes focused on the tablet. But as Steve walked past him, he saw that the screen was dark. Had Tony been looking at something that he didn't want Steve to see?

"It wasn't your fault. And you don't have to apologize. Tony..." Steve trailed off as he sank down into his chair, looking at the kit sitting across from him. Tony looked so fragile. How could anyone have wanted to hurt him? "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I meant what I said. I won't hurt you."

"I've heard that before," Tony said quietly, his tail lashing through the air a couple of times. "It wasn't a stranger. He wasn't - he was my friend. Or I thought he was my friend. It turned out he just saw me as some stupid pet." He spat the word out. "And when I got in his way, he took the chance to take me out permanently. I was ready to die on that street last night because he told me to sit and stay there, and I just - the thought of disobeying was more than I could bear. I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for you."

The disgust and self-hatred in Tony's voice was hard to hear. Steve reached out to him, putting one hand on Tony's arm again. "You're not the first person to be fooled and betrayed by someone they trusted. It's not your fault. The blame is on the person who did that to you, not you. And after what he put you through, no one would blame you for obeying."

"Really? You don't even know what he did."

"The bruises on your face speak volumes," Steve said. He wished that he could share the serum with Tony for a little while, just until the bruises and welts and any other damage that Tony was hiding went away. 

Tony winced, his hand twitching under Steve's like he wanted to hide his face. "He used to only hit me where it didn't show," he said, more to himself than to Steve. "But after a while... he said I would never be leaving that place. He said I'd be there forever, so it didn't matter where he hit me. And he liked being able to see it."

"Did he ever..." Steve couldn't bring himself to finish the question. There were too many horrible possibilities going through his mind. But it still came out, and he wanted to kick himself as soon as Tony looked up at him and smiled humorlessly.

"You don't want to know," he said.

"I don't, but if you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen."

Tony nodded. He looked tired suddenly, but all he said was, "I'm tired."

"Bruce said you're touch starved. I remember that being a symptom."

"You've been around kits before?"

"My best friend is a kit. He used to sneak into my bed all the time when we were kids," Steve said. It seemed wrong to smile when only seconds before they'd been discussing such terrible things, so he kept his face straight. "He still does it, only at least now the bed is big enough to accommodate the both of us so that I don't have to sleep on the very edge all night. He's also a bed hog, as it turns out. I'm not sure how his girlfriend puts up with him, to be honest."

"Was that who you were talking to?" Tony asked. He stood up from the table when Steve did, trailing behind again as Steve returned to the living room. He hung back and watched as Steve piled some blankets and pillows on the couch.

"Yeah. His name is Bucky. He wants to come over for supper tonight. But if you're not okay with that, he doesn't have to." He went on arranging the couch into a comfortable nest, not even realizing that Tony hadn't answered until he turned around and realized that he was being subjected to a scrutinizing stare.

"It's fine," Tony said finally.

"Tony?"

"He's worried about you, right? It makes sense. You picked up a stray off the street." Tony dropped his gaze, but not before Steve saw tears glittering in his eyes. His arms were wrapped around the tablet, but it didn't hide the fact that his hands were shaking.

"Oh, Tony." Maybe it wasn't the right thing to do, but Steve couldn't have stopped himself from gathering Tony in a hug if he tried. He wrapped his arms around the kit, heart aching when Tony made one of those soft keening sounds.


	5. Chapter 5

No matter what Tony said, he clearly missed his friends. And Steve seriously doubted that they had moved on the way that Tony seemed to think they had. After all, it had been nearly seventy years since Steve had seen Bucky before the two of them eventually crossed paths, but that hadn't lessened Steve's desire to save Bucky. And right now, that memory only made him more determined to find Tony's friends and reunite them. 

They stood there together for a long time, until Steve was able to coax the crying kit onto the couch with him. He covered them up with blankets, making sure that every inch of Tony was covered, and wrapped an arm around Tony's shoulders before he turned the television on. Some stupid movie about the Battle of New York was playing. It wasn't really to Steve's taste, but he let it play quietly in the background while Tony cried himself out.

God knew he'd had enough of that to last him a lifetime. The Battle still haunted Steve's dreams sometimes. The Avengers were barely a team them; he'd spoken a handful of words to Iron Man, Natasha, Clint, Thor and Bruce before being thrust on the field with them. The guilt over not being able to save Iron Man's life was a sour taste in the back of his throat, especially because Iron Man was the whole reason New York was still standing. The fact that they didn't even know who Iron Man was to this day, a well-guarded secret that the man had taken to his grave, only made it worse.

The eventually movie had ended and a documentary about the Museum of Modern Art had begun before Steve felt a weight come to rest against his chest. He glanced down and saw that Tony had fallen asleep and was now half-sprawled across Steve. Steve smiled, not sure whether to be touched or surprised by the show of trust. All Tony had was Steve's word that he wouldn’t hurt him, and yet here he was, vulnerable in sleep.

He gently stroked Tony's hair, remembering how much Tony had liked that last night, and looked back at the television. All in all it was a very peaceful way to spend the afternoon, and that's exactly where they still were at just after five when there was the click of a key turning into a lock, and then Steve's front door opened without anyone knocking. He looked up and put a finger to his lips, watching as Bucky came into the room.

A little amazed that he was alone, Steve raised an eyebrow and spoke in a hushed voice. "Where's the rest of the crew?"

“Nat and Clint had a mission, though they should be back today. Coulson went with them. Bruce is holed up in the lab and threatened to drop acid on me if I kept pressing,” Bucky replied, smirking faintly. “Sam has a date. And I don’t know where Thor is, but chances are Jane’s involved.” He studied the scene on the couch, one eyebrow slowly lifting in a way that said more than words ever could.

Steve flushed a little, tightening his grip on Tony. “Be nice, Buck. He’s pretty skittish.”

“I’m always nice,” Bucky said, which was the biggest goddamn lie of the century, and Steve was about to say as much when Tony suddenly tensed under his arm. And then he turned into a blur of action, hurtling the tablet at Bucky’s face before he used his claws to scramble free of Steve’s grip and get up over the couch. Steve yelped and Bucky swore and the tablet clattered to the ground amidst the thump of Tony’s slight weight hitting the floor, and then there was stunned silence for a second or two before it was punctuated by wheezing.

Even after some seventy-odd years, that sound was still familiar to Steve, though he doubted that Tony suffered from asthma. He got up, grimacing at sting from the claw marks and scratches even as the serum kicked in, and carefully rounded the couch. He wasn’t surprised to find Tony hiding on the ground, huddled into a little ball. His breathing was shallow and fast, eyes unfocused, hands shaking so badly it was a miracle he’d possessed enough coordination to get free, never mind throw something at Bucky with such unerring accuracy.

Then again, fear could do strange things.

“Tony,” Steve whispered, torn between guilt and concern. 

Bucky moved around the couch too, rubbing his forehead with a grimace. His tail quivered with annoyance. “Little runt has good aim.”

“It’s your own fault. I told you he was skittish,” Steve snapped. He shouldn’t have let Bucky get that close to the couch without waking Tony up first. He knew better than that. How many times had he witnessed soldiers lashing out after someone came up behind them, or appeared suddenly in front of them? Especially after an intense battle. Hell, he’d seen it often enough after the Battle of New York. 

“Steve –”

“Just get back,” Steve said, and then he cautiously stepped closer and knelt down next to Tony. He wanted to reach out and touch him, but he wasn’t sure that would be a good idea. “Tony, babe, you’ve gotta breathe, okay? You’re safe here. No one can hurt you. It’s just me. Steve. And you remember me telling you about my friend, right? It’s just us. You’re okay. You’re safe.” 

“Touch him, Steve,” said Bucky.

“It might scare him more.”

“Trust me, the benefits will outweigh the negative,” Bucky said, crossing his arms. His cat ears were standing straight up atop his head, a clear indicator as to his discomfort. “He’s touch starved, you said, and I can tell that’s true. You’re probably the first person to touch him kindly in months, if not years. He associates that with you.” He couldn’t look right at Steve as he spoke, instead staring just off to the side. 

Steve hesitated. It wasn’t the way he would’ve handled a human who was having a panic attack, especially not one in Tony’s circumstances. But Bucky sounded so sure that he eventually gave in. He slowly reached out and petted Tony’s hair, just as he’d been doing earlier. Tony flinched and whimpered at the initial touch, but didn’t react in any other way. Despite the urge to back off, Steve continued to pet him. What he wanted to do was pull Tony into a hug, but he didn’t dare do that just yet.

Very slowly, Tony’s breathing started to even out a little. He was still shaking when he finally blinked, as though coming back to himself, and focused on Steve. The tiny, confused chirp he let out was enough to make Steve smile, albeit uncertainly, and that seemed to be confirmation enough for Tony. Just like he had last night, he threw himself into Steve’s arms and clung to him. Steve shushed him, wrapping his arms around Tony and hugging him tightly.

He met Bucky’s eyes over top of Tony’s head. “Thanks, Buck.”

Bucky was looking thoughtful. He said, “I guess we didn’t have to worry about him hurting you. Those tiny claws couldn’t do much damage.”

It was as much of an apology as Steve would get. He grinned. “They’re sharper than they look, trust me.” He slowly got to his feet, staggering only a little under the additional weight. Tony wasn’t really heavy – he was too thin for that, and kits tended to be lighter than their human counterparts anyway (one of the reasons Natasha and Clint were such good spies) - but Steve wasn’t accustomed to carrying him. He wondered if that might change sometime soon.

He sat down on the couch, Tony in his lap, and wrapped a blanket around the both of them. Bucky threw himself down in the chair and opened one of the pizza boxes. The smell of pepperoni and anchovies filled the air. It took a couple of minutes, but gradually Tony's shivering stopped and he turned his head just far enough to watch Bucky, nose twitching. But he didn't make any move to ask if he could have some, and Steve couldn't figure out if it was because Tony was too shy (unlikely) or because he expected to be told off (likely) or because he thought that question - any question - might result in being hit (way more likely than Steve was comfortable with).

Bucky wasn't blind, though, and apparently he could only ignore a set of big brown eyes for so long before caving. "You like anchovies?" he asked.

Tony didn't answer, looking back at Steve with flattened ears, and after a moment Steve cleared his throat. "He's asking you, babe."

Bucky's eyebrows shot up. "Babe?" he mouthed, looking like Christmas had come early, and it was only Tony's presence that kept Steve from banging his head into the nearest hard surface. Oh yeah, Bucky wasn't gonna let _that_ go anytime soon.

"Me?" Tony said, voice small, and turned his head to peek at Bucky. "I dunno. I can't remember. It was easier not to think about it. To try and forget."

The mirth vanished from Bucky's face as quickly as it had come. "What do you remember?"

"Water," Tony said after an extended pause. "Bread. Cheese, sometimes, if I was good enough. There was pizza at first, but it didn't taste very good. He thought it was funny to feed me old stuff and see if it would make me sick. But then he realized I couldn't do anything if I was throwing up, so he stuck to the stuff that the kitchen staff wouldn't miss."

Steve's throat locked up. Bucky's eyes hardened. They shared a look over Tony's head, but it was Bucky who spoke. "Then you're missing out, kid. Here." He took a fat, hot slice of pizza from the box and started to lean towards Tony. Tony immediately jerked back, claws latching into Steve. Bucky stopped, hand outstretched, and just waited.

Eventually, when it became clear Tony wasn't going to take the slice, Steve did. He bite into it, but could hardly enjoy the taste of it when Tony was so stiff in his arms. He made a pleading face at Bucky, who sighed.

“So Fury says that he thinks Nat and I should start going out on missions together,” he said.

That was Bucky for you. Once he decided someone wasn’t a threat, he didn’t bother keeping trying to keep things under wraps. It drove Fury crazy. Evidently Bucky had decided that Tony was here to stay for some time. Steve shot him a grateful smile, pleased that they weren’t going to dance around Tony being in the room. The possibility that Tony was a trap was looking less likely by the minute, and trying to hide anything from him would be next to impossible if he had to spend the next several weeks (months?) at Steve’s side. No doubt Coulson would descend upon him with legions of confidentiality forms at some point anyway.

“I don’t think that would be a bad thing. You guys aren’t as coordinated as her and Clint, but you work well together,” said Steve. He tried to relax, keeping one arm tight around Tony. It seemed like Tony had gotten even tenser over the past couple of minutes.

“I just don’t know how I feel about going out on missions,” Bucky said. “What if I, you know, run into _them_ again?” 

Steve sighed. “Then say no. Fury doesn’t own us.”

“You. He doesn’t own you. But they practically rescued me, Steve.”

“They did the same for me,” Steve pointed out, but they both knew that wasn’t technically true. Stark Industries had provided the money for the search team that eventually found Steve in the ice. Apparently it was something that Howard had set up, but which his son, Tony Stark, had continued to fund. Sometimes Steve still felt a little disappointed that he’d never gotten the chance to meet Howard's son, but he - along with thousands of others - had died in the Battle of New York.

SHIELD, on the other hand, had been the one to help Steve retrieve the Winter Soldier from Hydra. And they’d been the ones responsible for helping to deprogram Bucky, though really Steve credited Sam, Clint and Natasha with that more than anyone else on SHIELD’s payroll. Especially Natasha. She and Bucky had a history that had gone a long way towards making Bucky’s escape from Hydra a lot smoother. Still, he understood where Bucky was coming from. 

And no one could blame Bucky for being a little worried about running into Hydra again. Whatever they had done to him before, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. But Fury had the tendency to get a little too into the big picture sometimes, to the point where he lost track of the individual people that made up that big picture. It was understandable to a certain degree, because Fury had so much to worry about, but also frustrating when it was Steve’s best friend they were talking about.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/).


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